


The wind, his lover

by angeleledhwen (kallistei), eledhwen (kallistei)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-30
Updated: 2003-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-05 02:36:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/angeleledhwen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kallistei/pseuds/eledhwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past still leaves a mark.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The wind, his lover

**Author's Note:**

> For Vic

It was just past midnight on a windy early October night in Harry Potter’s second year of teaching at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when the door at the top of the Astronomy Tower swung soundlessly open as if of its own accord. Far below its looming presence, the trees of the Forbidden Forest, their gaudy turning colours made elegant and muted in the flood of full-moon light, murmured to each other like young girls at a ball at the fickle caress of the wind. At its implacable urging, they bid a soft farewell to their leaves for the winter.

The softest of footsteps could barely be made out over the whisper-whistle of the wind and leaves, then the door closed again. Hands appeared to carelessly cast aside a sheet of nothingness, revealing a young man whose black hair, though short, showed the unmistakable signs of half a night of sleepless tossing. At least, he was young at first glance, young for a wizard. He appeared no more than thirty, in fact, although a more thorough search would uncover the lines on his face, more from worry than smiles.

He walked slowly, not quite hesitantly, towards the battlement edging the tower-top, crossing his bared arms and leaning on them, peering down at the ground so far below. The wind ruffled his hair fondly in greeting, but made no real impact on it, mussed as it already was, and stroked his face with a more loving touch than he had felt in years. A slight, lopsided smile tugged at a corner of his mouth as a single bronzed leaf fluttered up and whirled past his face in the wind’s grasp, but there was little of humour in it, or in shadowed green eyes that were no longer protected by his trademark glasses. He had discarded them years ago, in a futile attempt to wash away or at least hide his past, as he had ended Voldemort and along with him, the famous scar.

He stood there, gazing blankly down at the ground or up at the sky until the wind began to pick up slightly. Suddenly he straightened, unfolding his arms, scrambling up onto the protective edging easily, with perfect grace. Standing atop it, he flung his arms wide, feeling the wind buffet his front as if pushing him, urging him back towards the safety of the tower-top flagstones. He remained there for a while, poised like a diver on the highest board, precise Seeker’s balance serving him well.

For a moment, for long enough, he contemplated it. A flawless swallow-dive, hurtling towards the ground, snapping his arms out at the last instant like a hawk’s wings just before impact. It would be fitting for him, he thought unexpectedly, to die while attempting to fly, to shatter on the unyielding ground while reaching for the wind’s embrace.

The wind, jealous of his introspection, flung a leaf in his face, snatched it away and flung it petulantly towards the ground. The spell broken, he pulled his arms in and scrambled down, abruptly clumsy, uncomfortable. The wind stilled, the scrape of his shoes on the stone suddenly all he could hear.

He walked away from the edge, towards the door, pausing to snag the Cloak on his way. Draping it around himself but not bothering with the hood – after all, he now had the right to wander the school as he pleased – he opened the door. Just before he left, he turned briefly for one more look at the moon-silvered stone and the stars against the satin-blue earliest morning sky. He walked through the door, back into his life, as the wind delivered one last lovers’ gift, a metalled leaf that tangled in his hair, gold on black.


End file.
